


Keeping

by Missy



Category: Burn Notice
Genre: D/s, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-04
Updated: 2010-04-04
Packaged: 2017-10-08 17:20:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/77783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Sequel to "Belonging")  Sam and Michael try switching.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keeping

They had gathered around their table at Carlito's, Michael beside Sam, Fiona across from them, their client gushing her praise as she counts out a stack of twenties.

"…You promise John won't find us?" she asked, her dark eyes flashing behind tinted sunglasses.

"I can guarantee it," Michael said, trading amused glances with Fi. The last time they'd seen John he'd been face-down in a pool of Everglades swamp water, the victim of a 'boating accident'. The guy had beaten one of his kids into a coma; Michael considered it justifiable homicide, not matter what the cops had ruled it. The client didn't notice their shared look; she finished cutting the money into stacks and pushed them across the table. Fiona and Sam accepted their stacks with a smile, but Michael split his right in half and pushed it back across the table. "Take this and donate it to a shelter in your own name."

Her eyes widened. "You don't need to do that."

"I want to help you start a fresh life." He caught Sam watching him. "Think of it as payback. I've got a lot to be grateful for."

Their client promptly began to cry, and Fiona patted her shoulder gently for comfort. Sam, inspired by his lover's generosity, offered to pay for their shared dinner, which ended with Fiona getting the woman a cab to her hotel.

"Well, you did good again, Mikey," Sam remarked, sounding tired.

Michael smirked over the rim of his beer. "I do my best work when I'm wet."

Sam grinned. "Wet, but not in the shower. I thought you were gonna break it…uh, uh Mikey…" Michael's hand had slipped under the table and up Sam's left leg, and to his surprise, the palm was slapped away. "No touching Master Sam without asking permission," Sam teased.

"But you're not Master Sam tonight," Michael reminded him, in a completely reasonable tone, his fingers lightly circling his wrist. "Tonight, I'm Master Michael." He felt Sam's skin prickle against his touch, silently acknowledging Michael's claim.

Sam gulped, right hand reaching for his feely-sweating bottle of Miller. He swallowed a gulp. "When do we get out of here?" he growled.

"We have to say goodbye to Fiona." Michael smiled at Sam's responding grunt. "Do you want her to ask you where we went? I'm sure she'd love the details…" He felt Sam's hand tense in his and suddenly knew Fi was back on the scene.

"Did I miss out on the fun?" Fiona teased, her voice sing-songing as she headed back to the table and her tuna nicoise. Sam glared at her, clearly still resentful of the fact that she'd figured out what was going on between he and Michael fairly quickly.

"Nothing that would get me arrested for indecent exposure," Michael smiled back. He and Fi had settled into an odd sort of camaraderie that had, to his relief, transcended the past and whatever was going on between himself and Sam.

"Being good? What a pity, Sam," she pulled the celery stalk from her bloody mary and began to chew on it. "I know how much fun Michael can be when he's bad."

It only took one sharp blow to Sam's back to dislodge the mouthful of beer he nearly inhaled from his windpipe.

 

****

They kissed their way up the steps to the loft, right into the living area. "Never…thought…we'd get out of there…" Sam remarked, kissing the side of Michael's neck as he pressed him against the wall with his weight.

Michael pushed him away. "Go get prepped while I set it up."

Sam grinned. "Make it fast, Mikey." His parrot-emblazoned shirt fell open as he pulled it off and tossed it carelessly to the floor on his way to the bathroom.

Michael couldn't help but admire his lover's enthusiasm. "Bring the lube with you," Michael called, still unable to understand why Sam wanted to keep the lube in the bathroom cabinet. Cohabitating with his lover had introduced him to Sam's quirks, and fortunately he found most of them amusing.

Michael set the scene quickly; a pair of padded handcuffs and a cat o'nine tails from Sam's collection. Michael had picked the whip carefully, wanting one that would deliver just the right sting without marking his lover too deeply. Sam had pre-negotiated his limits the day they'd agreed to switch – he was willing to take more pain than Michael was, and his preferred safety word was a simple and direct 'no'. They had a contract similar to the one Michael had signed for Sam – both resided in the top drawer of their dressing table.

Satisfied, Michael stripped out of his pressed shirt, pants and jacket, neatly folding it and putting it away, changing into a leather jacket and knee-high boots. He hesitated to remove his anklet – something he'd only done when bathing or swimming in recent months – before deciding it wouldn't fit the scene and unclasping and placing it on the dresser. That settled, he headed over to the full-length mirror he had borrowed from Fiona and dragged it closer to the bed, then dimmed the lights. He head Sam shut the bathroom door just a second before he turned around.

Sam entered the room wearing nothing but his bare skin, a sheen of water and the silver necklace. The sight of Michael dressed for action had an obvious physical effect on Sam- his half-hard cock twitched and began to swell. He tapped the tube of lube against his thigh and absorbed the sight of Michael, tricked out and ready to punish him. _Fucking masterpiece_ he mouthed, wearing a shit-eating grin that lit up his eyes.

Michael had to resist a smirk of his own, and instead snapped into master mode. "What the fuck are you smiling at, slave?"

Sam straightened his shoulders automatically at the brusque tone of Michael's voice. "Nothing, sir."

Michael picked up the whip and tapped his boot with it. "Come here."

Sam obeyed as quickly as he could, dragging his eyes down to the ground. Michael walked two paces forward, until he was standing in front of the bed. He kicked the shirt Sam had dropped so carelessly with the tip of his boot. "Messy messy, Sam. I'll have to correct you for that."

"Yes, sir," said Sam. He probably didn't expect Michael to do what he did next – reach out and yank Sam closer by a handful of hair, pulling him until they were face-to-face and chest-to-chest. Sam gasped but didn't tell Michael to stop, and so Michael continued – and used Sam's superior weight for leverage, tossing him onto the bed.

"Lay down." Sam scrambled to comply, resting upon the pillows, his head up near the headboard. Michael cuffed Sam's hands together, then pulled them over his head, until the cuffs were looped around one of the bed posts, to stretch Sam out for his first flogging.

Talk about a fucking masterpiece; a naked Sam bound with his arms over his head, wearing a perfectly submissive expression, sent an unexpected bolt of lightening straight to Michael's balls.

He favored his slave with a brief glance, then reached out to pinch Sam's nipples with firm, unforgiving pressure. Sam shivered in the bonds, his eyes melting, bright. "You're a disobedient little bitch today," Michael replied, letting go of one of Sam's nipples and snaking his hand downward, slapping Sam's stomach, and thighs with quick spanks that turned his skin red. He took the tip of his Sam's erection in his hand, which already lay dripping a pool of precum on his stomach. "You call me a slut, but you're the one who's dripping like a whore, Sam." He pinched it, just hard enough to make Sam let out an involuntary whine. "Did I tell you you could make noise?" Michael barked.

"I'm sorry, sir," Sam gasped out. "I didn't mean to, sir."

"You need a correction, whore. How should your master correct you?" Michael released Sam's dick, allowing it to bob in the air, bereft.

Sam looked up at Michael. "Slaves don't tell their masters what to do, sir."

So they didn't. Michael quickly changed his plans and picked up the whip. "Thirty lashes with the whip, slut."

"Forty, master."

Michael sighed and returned it to the side of the bed. "Stop."

Sam made a face. "Why the hell are you using the safe word?"

"You're trying to direct the scene, Sam."

Sam frowned, his antic face turning down into a pout. His forehead was soaked with sweat, his cock flagging but semi-solid, his nipples distended; the scene was turning him on so much that he'd forgotten his role; Michael felt a surge of pride at the realization. "Sorry, Mikey."

Michael stroked the side of Sam's face. "Let me make the decisions, all right? It's what we agreed to."

"Okay. Sorry." Sam's cock thumped impatiently against his stomach.

"You don't want to change it?"

"Nah – I'm fine – I just forgot…"

"Why don't we try this…" Michael unhooked the cuffs from the bedpost, then rolled Sam over on his stomach, pulling his hands back over his head. He hooked the cuffs to a shower rod, which would serve as a makeshift brace. Michael hooked the ends of the bar into the space between the wall and the dresser drawer and end table – a fit that wouldn't be too tight or too loose.

He paused, standing beside the bed with the whip in his hand. "Do you really trust me, Sam?"

He glanced back at Michael over his shoulder. "You've got me with my wrists cuffed over my head. I think that's a yes."

Michael smirked. "Game on?"

"Hell yes."

Michael assumed the air of a dom once more. "Just for your disobedience, you're getting forty-five strokes. But first…" He pulled Sam's head back by a handful of hair and held the cat o' nine tails before his gaping mouth. "Kiss it."

Sam strained up to reach a tendril of leather, his narrow tongue washing over the small strip as if it were a miniature cock, lavishing it with the desire he couldn't give Michael's cock.

Michael pulled the whip away, leaving Sam's mouth gaping; he then shoved the older man's head back down onto the bed, Sam turning it slightly to the right, allowing himself fresh air and a view of the action.

Michael ran the whip's tendrils down Sam's spine. "Count it," Michael demanded. "And that'll be the only sound coming out of your pussy mouth, slave. Or I'll double the punishment."

In a quavering voice, Sam counted out each stroke of the whip as Michael kept a careful eye on his target. Varying the strength and force of his blows, he managed to turn Sam's back and buttocks into a pattern of criss-crossing pink welts, being very careful not to draw blood, alternating each blow with a caress and moving slowly southward, until he was lashing Sam's ass. Sam writhed beneath the stroke of Michael's whip, unable to take the pleasure-pain with silence. Michael didn't fault him in this; he was Sam – antic, wild Sam who couldn't sit still if he tried. When Michael hit forty-five he caught a glimpse of Sam's face – dreamy-eyed, his mouth gaping, his tanned flesh stripped pink and throbbing visibly with desire.

Michael tossed the whip to the bedroom floor, running his right hand gently over the glowing flesh of Sam's back, stopping at his bright pink ass. He squeezed the flesh appreciatively and Sam let out a gasp. Michael could only smirk - Sam's might not have been as toned as he once was, but the rosy flesh left on his bones was entirely delectable, bitable, desirable.

And Michael was rock-hard without even touching himself.

He reached for the abandoned bottle of lube and slicked up his cock, then spread Sam's cheeks and dripped a generous dollop onto the pale brown hole between them. He circled the softly puckered orifice with his index finger before penetrating Sam carefully. He realized with a jolt that Sam was loose in a way that suggested Michael wasn't the first man to test him this way – why he was surprised that a man of Sam's age had given himself this way to someone else, but it allowed his inner dom full reign over his actions. He would require less prep work than Michael had anticipated, but he knew skimping on the foreplay would be a sin. Sam tensed under the slow probing of Michael's hand, and Michael waited for him to relax.

"Feels like you were fucked by the whole navy back here, whore." He shoved another finger into Sam's hole, and it took him easily.

"No sir!"

"Don't lie to your master, slut!" Michael's other hand came down on Sam's cheeks repeatedly. "Who touched you, bitch?"

"Oh God…this huge stud…this top…I was eighteen…I thought he was going to split me open…" Sam's head fell to the mattress as he rode Michael's fingers.

 

Michael smirked. "You're hurting your master's feelings, slave. You'd better be nice or he'll stop playing with you."

 

"He was nothing, sir!" Sam cried. "Your cock's so much bigger, sir."

"Does it taste sweeter?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Does it fill your ass like nobody else does?"

"Yes, sir!"

Michael dropped with whip, pulled his fingers out of Sam's ass and took his hard cock in hand. He slapped Sam across the face with it. "Worship this meat, whore."

Sam's voice was a howl. "Yes sir!"

Michael climbed onto the bed, uncuffing Sam and pulling him into a crouching position. He sat on the edge, and pointed at the mirror. "Suck it," he growled. "And watch yourself in the mirror, bitch. I want you to see what a slut you are."

"Yes, sir," Sam gasped. He descended on Michael's cock with a sloppy, desperate hunger, accidentally scraping against Michael's shaft.

Michael instantly pulled his dick free of Sam's mouth, then whipped it against his lips. "No teeth," he growled.

"Yes, master," Sam gasped out. In response, Michael teased Sam with his shaft, tracing the shape of his mouth, then inserting his prick slowly into Sam's mouth and withdrawing it abruptly. Sam let out a series of gasps, culminating on a gag, before Michael allowed him up.

"What do you see, slave?" Michael asked, pointing to the mirror.

Sam's eyes were feverish, the words seeming to come from some deep reservoir of passion. "A cock-slut." Sam said, and rubbed his face worshipfully against Michael's prick.

"Prove it, whore. Suck your master's cock until it blows all over your face."

Sam wasn't as experienced as Michael in the giving-head department, but – even though he gagged repeatedly – he doggedly continued the act without diminished enthusiasm. Once Sam learned to relax his throat, Michael leaned back and luxuriated in his ministrations, running a praising hand over his lover's head and down his shoulders. Sweating, Michael doffed the leather jacket. Time to switch tactics.

When he pulled out of Sam for a final time Sam hovered over Michael's groin, mouth wide open, staring at his lap. Michael told him to get up and straddle Michael's knees. "I'm going to fuck this hot ass, slave."

"Yes, master," gasped Sam, his back arching involuntarily as Michael helped him climb into position. He spread Sam's thighs apart and held himself erect as Sam lowered himself onto Michael's prick.

"Jesus," Sam breathed, and Michael grunted in response. Sam wasn't as loose as Michael had judged him to be, but he wasn't exactly tight; nevertheless, it had been a long time since Sam had been fucked and he arched his back. He couldn't see himself in the mirror but Michael could witness every single inch of himself disappearing into Sam.

"Ride," Michael growled, grabbing Sam by his hips and piledriving upward into his first downward lunge. Sam had been in this position before – the lunging and jerking of his hips spoke volumes; his eyes were dark slits, his mouth gaping open, nothing but passion written on his features as he writhed on Michael's lap.

Sam couldn't control the volume of his delight as he ground his erection into the smooth flesh of Michael's stomach. Michael knew he loved it, could tell simply from the way his lover's cock jerked every time Michael hit bottom and brushed against Sam's prostate. He lent Sam a helping hand, his right encircling the thick solid base of his lover's erection and tugging in rhythm to the violent motion of his hips.

"Who owns you?" Michael snarled.

"You do, sir!" Sam cried out.

Michael grabbed Sam by the thighs and began to pound himself into his lover. Sam's head thrashed backward then hung limply upon his neck, tilted back, trying to see himself in the mirror. Michael couldn't see anything but the thickness of Sam's torso. Lost in the blinding pleasure of his lover's body, Michael arched beneath Sam, flooding his ass, feeling his desire drip down over his own inner thighs.

An orgasmic haze consumed Michael for a moment. Then he felt Sam desperately riding his oversensitive cock, still in Michael's limp grip. "Please," Sam choked out. "Please let me come, master!"

Michael felt a wave of pride at his lover's self-control. He increased the friction as a reward. "Come on my hand, slave," he demanded. "Come all over me."

Sam's body obeyed without thinking, shuddering, a strangled 'God!' bursting forth from his throat as he rocketed four translucent strands of semen up over their slippery torsos and Michael's firm hand. Michael could feel Sam's spasms clear through to his own cock and winced.

Sam didn't wait for further direction. When he finished, he collapsed into Michael's grip, his head on his lover's shoulder, his eyes closed.

"Session's over," Michael said into Sam's shoulder, patting his back. That's when he heard Sam laugh softly.

Sam always laughed when he came. There was something incredibly sweet about that fact, and Michael basked in the praise. After a few moments, Sam climbed off of Michael's lap and grabbed the whip to stow it away while Michael stripped off the boots. He took advantage of Sam's distraction and retrieved a small box from the underside of his bookshelf, then stripped off his boots and entered the bed.

Sam waited for him, lying gingerly on his side. "You didn't tell me to stop," Michael reminded him.

"It's all right, I'm a big boy," Sam protested, wrapping an arm around Michael's shoulder.

"Maybe this'll make you feel better." He held out a small wrapped package.

Sam rose one brow. "Charity for the sweet?"

"I figure I owe you for the collar." He reached over for the discarded anklet and watched as Sam opened the gift box.

Inside was a silver bracelet, in the same heavy masculine style Sam always wore…but bearing a hot-stamped design on the surface.

A padlock.

Sam smiled and held out his wrist. After Michael had strapped Sam's bracelet on, Sam strapped Michael's anklet back into place. And then Michael recalled Sam's earlier words; he was right, they did look very good together. As if he realized it on his own subconscious level, Sam relaxed into Michael's shoulder, and Michael rested his head upon the top of Sam's.

"I love you," he mumbled into Michael's neck.

Michael didn't freeze at the words. Instead he tilted his head to look into his lover's eyes.

"I don't know where it's going to take us, but I do." Sam sighed. "You don't have to say it back, I just needed to let you know."

And Michael silenced him with a finger pressed to his lips.

"I love you too."

 

THE END


End file.
